Hard Core Law. Angi Morgan
It’s my fault they’re missing. I don’t know how you’re being kind to me at all or even staying alone in the same room. I’m not sure I could do it.”
“I don’t blame you for what’s happened. How can I?” He kept a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t fight to get away. “I’m beating myself up that I didn’t put a security detail on all of you. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. Tenoreno has come after three of my men and their families. Why did I think you or the kids weren’t vulnerable?”
“We have to stop blaming ourselves,” she said softly. “If you have a plan, now might be the time to share it with me.”
“It’s not so much a plan as backup. What I said before McCaffrey came in, I meant it. But if I can keep the FBI on my side...we’re all better off.”
A gentle knock stopped the conversation again. “They’ve cleared out, Major. I’ve secured all the windows and doors. Here’s your phone.” Ranger Johnson said through the door.
Josh turned the knob and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Bryce. You guys know what to do. My temporary replacement’s going to have a tough time. The other men are going to resent that he’s there. They’re also going to want to help with the kidnapping. You’ve got to make the men understand that none of you can get involved and that those orders come from me.”
“Good luck. And sir—” Bryce shook his hand, clasping his left on top of it “—let’s make sure it’s just a temporary replacement. You know we’re all here when you need us.”
“We appreciate that.”
“I think this is one time that One Riot, One Ranger shouldn’t apply. I’ll take care of things.” Bryce walked downstairs.
Tracey gently pushed past Josh, nudging herself into the hall. “I can’t stay in their room any longer. And I really think I need a drink.”
Josh followed her. “But you don’t drink. And probably shouldn’t, with a concussion.”
“Don’t you have some Wild Turkey or Jim Beam? Something’s on top of the refrigerator, right? It’s the perfect time to start.”
“Yeah, but you might not want to start with that.” How did she know where he kept his only bottle of whiskey?
“Actually, Josh, I went to college. Just because you’ve never seen me drink doesn’t mean it’s never happened. A shot of whiskey isn’t going to impair my judgment.”
She was in the kitchen, pulling a chair over to reach the high cabinet before he could think twice about helping or stopping. He sort of stared while she pulled two highball glasses reserved for poker night that had been collecting dust awhile. A finger’s width—his, not her tiny fingers—was in the glass and she frowned before sliding it toward him across the breakfast bar.
“Drink up. You need it worse than I do.”
He stared at it. And at her.
She suddenly didn’t look like a college student. He noticed the little laugh lines at the corner of her eyes and how deep a green they were. It took him all this time to realize she was wearing a Waco Fire Department T-shirt under the baggy scrub top. Something he’d never seen her wear before.
She threw the whiskey back and poured herself another. “Am I drinking alone?”
He swirled the liquid, took a whiff. That was enough for him. Clearheaded. Ready to get on the road. That’s what he needed more than the sting and momentary warmth the shot would provide.
Tracey threw the second shot back, closing her eyes and letting the glass tip on its side. Her eyes popped open as if she’d been startled. Then they dropped to the phone that was resting next to his hand, vibrating.
Her hand covered the cell.
His hand covered hers.
“Wait. Three rings. It’ll allow the FBI time to get their game face on.”
Ring three he uncovered her hand and slid through the password, then pushed Speaker.
“Time for round one, Ranger Parker. You get a new phone from a store in Richland Mall. We’ll contact you there in half an hour. Bring the woman.”
The line disconnected.
“Do they really think that no one is listening to those instructions he just gave us?” Tracey asked.
“We follow everything he says. He’ll try to get us clear of everyone. We get the phone, but the next time he makes contact—before we do anything else—we get proof of life.” Josh dropped the phone in his shirt pocket realizing that the kidnappers had just made Tracey a vital part of their plan. “I hoped they’d leave you out of this. We just need to know both kids are okay before I argue to take you out of the equation.”
“Of course.” She hurried around the end of the breakfast bar, grabbing the counter as she passed.
“You look a little wobbly. You up for this?”
“You probably should have stopped me from drinking alcohol when I have a head injury and they gave me pain meds.” Tracey touched her swollen cheek and the side of her head, then winced.
Josh held up a finger, delaying their departure. He walked around her and pulled an ice pack from the freezer, tossing her an emergency compress. “This should help a little.” Then he pulled insulin cartridges from the fridge, stuffing them inside Jackson’s travel and emergency supplies bag.
Instead of her cheekbone, Tracey dropped the cold compress on her forehead and slid it over her eyes. “You’re right.” She took off to the front door. “You should definitely drive.”
Proof of life. That’s what they needed. He looked around his home. Different from the madhouse an hour ago. Different because the housekeeper had come by this morning. Different because Gwen was no longer a part of it.
Different because Tracey was.
Josh wandered through Richland Mall with the fingers of one hand interlocked with Tracey’s. With the other he held the new phone securely in its sack. No one had the number so the kidnappers couldn’t use it for a conversation. He expected someone to bump into him. Or drop a note. Maybe catch their line of sight, giving them an envelope.
“Hell, I don’t know what they plan on doing. The dang thing isn’t even charged.”
“You’ve said that a couple of times now,” Tracey acknowledged. “My head is absolutely killing me and I’m starting to see two of everything. Can we get a bottle of water?”
“Sure.”
He kept his eyes open and wouldn’t let go of Tracey as he paid for the water at a candy store. She looked like a hospital volunteer in the navy blue scrub top.
“Josh, you are making my hand hurt as much as my head.” She tugged a little at his thumb.
“Sorry. I just can’t—”
“I know. You’re afraid they’ll grab me. I get it. But my hand needs circulation. Come on. Let’s park it on that bench.”
He looked in every direction for something suspicious or a charging station for the phone. Whatever or whoever was coming for them could be any of the people resting on another bench or walking by.
“Here, I’m done. Drink the rest.” She capped the bottle and tried to hand it to him.
“No thanks.”
“If I drink it, I’ll have to leave your side for a few and head into the restroom all alone. I know you don’t want that.”
“Then throw it away. No one’s telling you to drink it.” He watched the young man with the baby stroller until he moved in the opposite direction.
“Lighten